


On the Run

by flaming_muse



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-07-20
Updated: 2005-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different way AtS s3 could have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as self-indulgent stream of consciousness fic via e-mail to TheBratQueen.
> 
> AU mid-AtS s3
> 
> Originally posted in my LJ on July 20, 2005.

They're out of options. They know what they have to do. Angel gives Connor one last soft kiss on his forehead before handing the baby over to Wesley. He takes a step back, staring at them both like their memory will give him the strength to make this final stand and keep the enemy at bay long enough for them to escape. He'll do it, even though he'll most certainly die to protect his son.

Wesley stands in front of the doorway, Connor cradled in his arms, looking back at Angel in despair. They know it will be the last time they see each other, and neither of them can look away. After a long moment filled with silent pain, Angel finally realizes that he has nothing left to lose. Something inside of him breaks, and he rushes to him and gives him a hard, long, almost painful kiss. The pressure of his hands will leave bruises on Wesley's skin, and it's still not nearly enough.

Angel pulls back, turns away, and says, "Go."

Breathing hard, Wesley watches his tense back and says, "Angel..."

" _Go_ ," Angel says again, not turning around, and Wesley looks at him for another long moment and then leaves with Connor.

So they're both broken-hearted, torn apart by the kiss and the situation, but do what they have to. Wesley narrowly escapes with Connor, dodging demons in the sewers and calmly putting a bullet through the head of one that leaps out at them from above. All the while in the back of his mind is Angel and that kiss and what it could have meant and what it means to lose him. He wants to believe that Angel will make it out, but they both knew that it was virtually suicide for him to stay there so that his son could be safe.

And Angel fights this huge battle, completely outnumbered, and somehow at the end all of the demons are dead, and he's still standing. Well, not so much standing but lying in a pool of blood and slime, his body battered and broken. All he can think about as the world greys out is Wesley and Connor and whether they got out all right. He knows they did, he trusts Wesley that much, and he could almost smile before he loses consciousness.

*

Meanwhile Wesley goes to the rendezvous point and stays there far longer than is safe. He knows that Angel isn't coming. He knows that he has to get Connor out of the city. Yet he can't leave, because if he does he's giving up on Angel, and he's never done that before. He believes in him, the world needs him, _he_ needs him, and he can't leave and believe that Angel is truly gone.

So he waits and waits, rocking Connor to keep him quiet and keeping one hand free to go for his gun in case the little utility room in the sewer is discovered by their enemies. Finally, what seems like hours after the point he was supposed to leave if Angel hadn't come, he makes up his mind to go back to the site of the battle. He tells himself that once it was over the demons would have cleared out and that it's no less safe a route out of the city than the one he had originally planned, but ultimately it's because he has to see for himself. Deep in his bones, he's still a Watcher. He needs facts. Then he can move on.

And when he gets there, his breath catches in his throat because of the extent of the slaughter. He turns Connor's face into his shoulder to shield him, despite the fact that the baby can't see more than a foot in front of him because he's so young, and picks his way carefully through the carnage. His heart nearly stops when he finds Angel's still body partially pinned under a large ogre-like creature - a Minor Kranthax, his mind supplies helpfully - but then he realizes that if Angel were truly gone he'd be dust. He falls to his knees, his jeans immediately growing unpleasantly damp with blood and ichor, and puts his hand on Angel's cheek.

"Angel. _Angel_. Can you hear me?" he says.

And Angel stirs - barely, but enough. He turns his head a scant inch toward Wesley, and his eyes open into narrow slits. "Wes?" His voice is hoarse and weak. "I thought I told you to go."

"Not without you," Wesley says, nearly shaking with relief. He cradles Connor in one arm and uses the other to help Angel to his feet. It's a difficult process for them both, but finally Angel is upright with his feet beneath him and his arm around Wesley's shoulder.

"Now we'll go," Wesley says with such determination that he pities any creature who tries to get in their way.

It's hard walking nearly carrying two people; the fact that one is an infant in no way cancels out the almost dead weight - pun intended, Wesley thinks - of the other. Still, they struggle through the tunnels and up onto the randomly chosen street where Wesley's car is parked. It's late enough at night that the street is empty apart from their halting steps, and the beep-beep the car makes as Wesley unlocks it sounds extremely loud.

Wesley leans Angel against the car and gets Connor into his car seat before tucking Angel with even more care into the passenger seat. His hand lingers without his conscious thought on Angel's shoulder, just feeling his solidity and letting himself enjoy a moment of relief that he's still there.

"You were supposed to get Connor away safe," Angel says, but Wesley can see only a hint of disapproval in his eyes.

"I am," Wesley tells him, before he gets into his side of the car and drives them off into the night.

So they drive out of the city and beyond the sprawling suburbs, and when Wesley is sure that they haven't been followed he pulls off onto a secondary road and onto the gravel verge. It's dark except for their headlights, but it's enough for Wesley to fumble in the bag on the floor behind Angel's seat to find what he's looking for.

Angel rouses enough from his semi-consciousness to ask, "What are you doing? Keep driving."

"You need blood," Wesley says, focused on opening the thermos. "You're very badly hurt."

"I'm not important. Keep going," Angel insists.

"You _are_ ," Wesley snaps, and he puts the thermos to Angel's mouth before he can argue.

There's a moment's stand-off, their eyes locked on each other in the dim light, and then Angel acquiesces and drinks, first slowly then greedily, his hand coming up to grip the dull silver finish of the thermos and partially covering Wesley's fingers as well.

When the thermos is empty, Wesley lowers it, but Angel follows, still holding onto Wesley's hand. Their eyes meet again, this time silently questioning instead of arguing.

"We need to get going," Angel says softly after the moment has drawn out to an almost painful length.

Wesley nods, but what comes out of his mouth next is, "You kissed me."

"Yeah." They look at each other for another few seconds, and then Angel starts to get that mulish look that means he's feeling defensive. "You kissed me back."

"Of course I did," Wesley says.

There's a bit more staring before they share a faint smile, and then Wesley turns and puts the car back into gear.

*

So they drive for hours, Angel drinking the rest of the blood and dozing as his body slowly knits itself back together. They turn off on a random interstate in the middle of pretty much nowhere as the sky begins to lighten with false dawn, and they're ensconced in a rather shabby and anonymous motel by the time the horizon turns from violets and indigos to pinks and oranges.

Wesley goes to check in by himself, and they settle into the last room on the long, low building, talking only in brief phrases about their surroundings. He watches Angel move stiffly and carefully as he boils water in the scarred coffee maker and uses it as a bath to warm Connor's formula.

"You need more blood." Wesley shrugs back into his coat.

"I'm fine," Angel tells him, not looking up from where Connor is lying on the bed - on a towel, because who knows what germs are on the threadbare bedspread.

"You aren't," Wesley says simply, and he's gone before Angel can think about calling him back.

Wesley is gone nearly two hours before he returns. Connor drifts to sleep in his carrier after he is fed, and Angel gets increasingly worried about where Wesley is. There are too many people after them, and he's trapped by the daylight in this largely indefensible room with no way to get out and no way to help Wesley if he's hurt. He wants them all to be together. Plus, as he finds out as he takes a quick shower, he's still quite hurt himself, the hot water making cuts sting and deeper wounds bleed again. At least his broken bones had mostly healed during the car ride.

Finally the door to the room opens just enough for Wesley to slip inside but not so far that Angel has to dodge out of the sunlight.

"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to find a slaughterhouse at this time of day," Wesley says with a wan smile, holding up a plastic bag.

More pleased to see him than he wants to admit, Angel takes it from him and sets it down on the table. "You need to rest. We're not safe here. We have to keep going."

"I know." Wesley holds his gaze for a moment, his expression grim, like he feels the weight of the responsibility of keeping Connor from harm as much as Angel does, maybe even more, and then he looks over at Connor. His face softens.

As much as he likes that Wesley loves Connor so much, Angel immediately misses the focus on him. He was worried, he's hurt, and he needs... something. He needs Wesley. God, he needs Wesley. Without thinking, he reaches out to cup the back of Wesley's neck and drags him in for a kiss.

Wesley doesn't hesitate; he kisses him back. Hard. Angel's surprised by that, but he happily goes with it, catching Wesley in a tight grip and all but devouring his mouth. Wesley reciprocates, groaning and fisting one hand in Angel's hair. Kissing him again and again until Angel's world is a blur of lips and tongues and - god! - teeth and hands and the solid, warm, very alive and very with him body in his arms.

Wesley feels so good and is so eager that Angel is flooded with arousal and relief. He can't let go. He can't stop kissing him, even though he can hear Wesley struggling for breath. He manages to slide his lips down to Wesley's jaw, and Wesley gasps for air. Given the way he leans into Angel's body and tilts his head he's probably also gasping from the journey of Angel's mouth.

They're both desperately hard, pressed tightly against each other despite the frustrating barrier of too many layers of clothes, and Angel snakes one arm around Wesley's waist to keep him there. Wesley moans again, catching Angel's mouth with his own, but his hand on Angel's previously dislocated shoulder makes fireworks of pain turn Angel's answering moan into more of a grunt.

"You're hurt," Wesley says, immediately loosening his grip.

"I don't care," Angel replies between drawn-out kisses. He's not letting Wesley go anywhere.

Wesley's voice is even huskier when he manages to pull away long enough to say, "I do."

"I know." Angel meets his eyes, his heart twisting in a way he doesn't want to think about when he sees how much emotion is written on Wesley's face. "Now shut up and let me kiss you."

Amazingly enough, Wesley does.

After another series of knee-weakening kisses, they start stumbling toward the bed. Angel isn't sure whose idea it is, but neither one of them seems to be arguing.

"Lie down," Wesley murmurs against Angel's lips, which might be a clue that he had orchestrated the move. Not like it matters.

Angel does, and he takes Wesley with him, not hesitating to use his strength to pull him along to lie beside him in the middle of the double bed. They lie on their sides, arms tight around each other, legs tangled, and mouths meeting with even greater ardor.

"Wes... Wes...," Angel whispers, pulling Wesley's shirt from his jeans to skim his hand up the hot skin of his back.

"It's all right." Wesley rocks against him, swallowing back a moan that Angel desperately wants to hear in full.

"God, Wes." Angel moans, himself, as one of Wesley's warm, long-fingered hands slips between them to push up his shirt and trail over Angel's bruised chest.

Things blur. Kisses. Lots of kisses - most of them long and forceful. Bodies against each other, and hands wherever they can reach, grabbing, pulling, trying to get more, trying to get closer. There's a mouth moving beneath Angel's jaw and a nipple between his fingers. There's a choked cry as he worries hot, sweat-dampened flesh with his teeth, the sound reverberating through Wesley's throat and into Angel's lips. There's cool air on his stomach as his pants are unfastened, and then he's gasping for air he hasn't needed in centuries as fingers slide down his cock and enfold it in a tight grip. He needs to touch in return, pulling fabric away so reach his goal.

They're panting into each other's mouths, their kisses turning clumsy and their bodies just far enough apart that there's room for their hands to move. The head of Wesley's cock is slick with pre-come, coating Angel's palm as he strokes him again and again, pulling moans out of him with every movement. Wesley's hand is moving just as fast, and they're both using the leverage of their entwined legs to thrust their hips in time. Angel can't remember the last time he felt anything like it, so much want, so much raw need. He feels like he's going to burst out of his skin.

"Angel, _please_ ," Wesley gasps. His eyes are closed, and what skin is bared by his opened jeans and pushed-up shirt is flushed. He looks almost edible and as desperate as Angel feels. He works Angel's cock harder, thrusting into Angel's hand.

Angel tips them over, heedless of his barely healed wounds, and pushes Wesley's hand away from him.

Wesley's eyes snap open, huge and dilated and distressed, and then roll backwards as Angel slides on top of him. There's not enough exposed skin, and they're both too close to their orgasms to make it last, but the new angle and the slide of erection against erection makes them both shudder.

Angel kisses him, devours him, as they thrust against each other, straining and swearing and moaning. Wesley feels so _real_ beneath him, so hot and strong and there and safe and... With a hoarse cry, Angel falls apart, coming so hard he can barely feel Wesley arching up beneath him, slippery warmth spilling between them and making those last few thrusts feel even that much better.

When Angel slowly drifts back to his senses, he's half-draped across Wesley, his face pressed against his throat. He sees no reason not to kiss the skin beneath his mouth, so he does, drawing a soft, sated sigh and an even softer shiver from Wesley at the touch.

"That was..." Angel trails off as his sluggish brain refuses to supply him with a word.

"Unexpected?" Wesley suggests. His hand moves lazily through Angel's damp hair.

"I was going more for unbelievably good," Angel says.

"That works, too." Angel can hear the smile in Wesley's voice.

He shifts a bit and finds that his movements are hampered by his pants tangled around his legs. "Next time I vote for less clothes, though," Angel says, lifting his head.

Wesley looks relaxed and surprisingly comfortable, the lines of care that had been etched on his face for the past weeks smoothed away, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. "Next time?"

"Uh..." Angel swallows. "Yeah? If you want."

"Of course I do," Wesley says, echoing words from an earlier conversation. He lifts his head and kisses Angel, softly, thoroughly, like he's precious and important and the center of everything.

Angel can feel himself beginning to get hard again, just a little, and he begins to work at the buttons of Wesley's shirt. Two inches of skin are exposed, then four, and Angel drops his head to taste them as he moves to the next button.

"Angel..." Wesley sounds happy, and that's good enough for Angel. Another button slips from its buttonhole as Wesley begins to caress Angel's back.

A soft gurgle stops them. They turn their heads to see Connor, sitting in his carrier, smacking his lips together in the way he does when he is about to wake up.

"It looks like nap time is over," Wesley comments, resting his head back on the pillow and looking into Angel's eyes. There's regret there, as well as something far warmer; Angel feels those emotions mirrored in his own heart.

He carefully re-fastens the buttons on Wesley's shirt, as much as it pains him to do so. "Maybe for him. You still need to rest."

Wesley glances down at his sticky stomach and grimaces. "I need to shower."

"You need to sleep." Angel's smile fades, the reality of the world beyond the thin motel room door coming back to him. "Please tell me you're not going to argue about that."

Putting his hand over Angel's on his chest, Wesley says seriously, "I'm not. I know I do." He squeezes Angel's fingers. "But I would like to shower before we go."

"Sleep first." Angel leans in and gives him a soft kiss. He doesn't let it turn into more. They both remember it can't, even without a baby about to demand their attention. This isn't the time. There isn't _time_. "Didn't I wear you out enough for that?"

"More than enough." Wesley smiles warmly and begins to shuck off his clothes, giving Angel a stunning view of the long, lean body he wants to know so much better, before slipping under the thin sheets. "Don't let me sleep too long," he says, yawning and turning onto his side toward Angel.

"Just a couple of hours," Angel agrees. He reaches out to stroke Wesley's hair to see if he can make some of those worry lines disappear again.

Wesley nods and closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. His face relaxes, but the corners of his mouth don't lose their upward curve.

Angel watches him for a moment before getting out of bed. By the time he gets himself cleaned up Connor is awake, and he picks him up, murmuring to him as Wesley's breathing evens out into true sleep.

They're both tired, and Angel knows things are going to get harder for them before they get easier. The threat to all them isn't over, and yet he's smiling about more than just the baby in his arms. He's not dust, and he still has his son. He has Wesley.

For the first time he thinks things might turn out all right after all.


	2. Chapter 2

"We need to make a stop," Wesley says.

"Uh..." Angel looks away from the road long enough to gesture at the hamburger in Wesley's lap. The lights of the fast food restaurant are still visible in the rear view mirror. "We just did."

"No," Wesley says. "To see a wizard near here."

Angel frowns and puts on his signal to pass a slow-moving eighteen-wheeler. "I thought we weren't seeing or contacting anyone. That way nobody knows where we are. Remember?"

"Yes, Angel, I do remember." Wesley's tired voice holds a note of impatience. "However, we are not immune from magical tracking, and to shield three of us is beyond my abilities."

Angel doesn't ask what Wesley had planned if it had only been him and Connor; it's irrelevant. "So you want to go see this wizard."

"Yes." Wesley lifts off the top bun of his burger and removes the pickles, laying them neatly on the paper wrapper. He makes no move to eat any of his meal.

"Do you trust him?" Angel asks.

"No, not in the slightest. The real question is do I think he'll give away our location," Wesley says. "I'm not sure. But he can do the magic we need."

Angel doesn't want to go. He looks in the rear view mirror back at Connor, snug in his car seat and waving one pudgy hand at the teddy bear rattle dangling from the carrier handle, and wishes deep in his bones that they could just keep driving and driving and never be found. He also knows that it isn't that easy.

"I trust _you_ ," Angel says finally. "If you say we should stop, we'll stop."

Wesley is silent for a long moment, and Angel can almost hear him thinking. Illuminated by the lights of an oncoming car, Wesley's brow is furrowed, his mouth set in a grim line. "We will be taking a risk, but I think it's worth it."

As far as Angel's concerned, that's that.

They debate over how to meet him. Wesley wants to go to his home during the day, where the sunlight will keep some of the wizard's creatures at bay and make it harder for them to sneak up unnoticed. Angel wants the meeting to be at night; it's sooner so it gives the wizard less time to prepare, but also because then he can have a chance of helping if it all goes south.

Wesley gives in, and a few hours later Angel finds himself lying in the back of the SUV, listening to Wesley walk up the dirt lane to the wizard's ramshackle house. Connor's rattle shakes with each step, his carrier held casually in Wesley's left hand. It takes everything Angel has not to be out there with them, but Wesley's calm but firm explanation that it's to their advantage if no one knows Angel isn't dust keeps him in place. Barely.

"I didn't realize you came expecting day care," a gravelly voice says. It's about ten or fifteen yards away from Angel's hiding place in the direction that Wesley had walked.

"It hardly seems wise to leave a baby unattended in a car parked on a deserted road in the middle of the night." Wesley sounds tired but unconcerned, though Angel knows neither is exactly true; Wesley might be tired, but he had been wound as tight as a spring on their trip over. Angel's assurances that he trusted Wesley's decision had only seemed to make him more tense.

"You could simply have parked closer to my home." The voice sounds amused.

Wesley laughs; he, too, might be seen as being amused if Angel didn't know him better. "You'll have to forgive me, Jasper, if I don't want to bring all of my own magical arsenal through the shield you've put up around your land. I'd rather not lose anything because it conflicts with your own magic."

Angel looks worriedly around the back of the SUV. He doesn't see anything like an arsenal; maybe Wesley is lying, or maybe it's just really small. It is magic, after all.

"I understand," Jasper replies. His voice is growing closer to Wesley's, but there's no scrunch of feet on dirt to go along with his movements. "And this is the young man you've come needing help with, then?" He must be looking at Connor.

Angel stiffens, ready to attack any threat to his son, but Wesley's reply is easy.

"Yes. I'd hate for them to be able to track me through him, but I can't be touching him all of the time."

"No." Jasper sounds repulsed by the idea. It makes Angel like him even less. "Then let's see what we can do for you."

"Excellent," Wesley replies.

Angel is just about considering letting his guard down a little when he hears the familiar sound of a gun being cocked.

"Now, Wesley, how long have we known each other?" Jasper asks.

"Long enough for you to know that I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your golem's head if it comes any closer," Wesley replies smoothly. "Surely you don't want to go to the trouble - and expense - of creating another one."

"He won't harm you." The wizard sounds almost like he's talking about a dog, but Angel doesn't believe him.

"No, he won't." The coldness of Wesley's voice makes it clear that he doesn't, either.

Angel hears some shuffling steps moving away, and Jasper says, "There, see? We're all friends here."

"Of course," Wesley says, far too mildly for Angel to think he's feeling friendly.

There's a soft rustling noise, like Wesley tucking his gun back under his jacket.

"You have changed since we last met in person," Jasper comments. "And given up the motorcycle, I see."

"Blood is so hard to get out of leather."

Angel tries to imagine the earnest and nervous young Wesley from his rogue demon hunting days handling this sort of situation and fails miserably. He feels a rush of pride for how competent his friend has become.

Wesley continues, "Not to be rude, but do you have the item ready for me?"

"Yes, I have it here." Another whisper of moving fabric. "One Haldnian Orb, as you can see."

"Fully charged?" Wesley asks.

"Would I sell you anything else?" Jasper replies.

"Yes." The word is curt but not unkind.

Jasper laughs. "Well, yes, I suppose I would, but not this time."

They talk about the orb for a little bit, stuff about charges and range and other things that Angel probably wouldn't care much about even if he weren't ready with every fiber of his being for Wesley and Connor both to be back within arm's reach and out from under the  
scrutiny of the wizard.

Finally, when the two men sound like they're wrapping up amicably, Angel dares to peek his head up above the window. Wesley's body language is relaxed as he stands in the light spilling from the front porch of the low bungalow, though Angel knows better than to assume that he truly is. Connor sits quietly in the carrier still in his left hand. Jasper is a whip-thin man with long, extremely fine wheat-colored hair that spills over his shoulders, and he's dressed almost comically in what looks like an old fashioned maroon smoking jacket and black lounging pants.

As Wesley hands him more of their cache of money than Angel would like and Jasper hands over what looks like a large, glowing marble, Angel notices two things. The first is that there are two human-shaped creatures nearby, one perhaps six yards behind to the side of Wesley, likely the one he threatened, and the other crouching down beyond the end of the porch, out of Wesley's sight, and the second is that Jasper's hand slides into his pocket as soon as Wesley takes his eyes off of Jasper's to inspect the orb.

Then there's a flash of light so bright that Angel is completely blinded.

As Angel's groping for the door handle, there's the scuffling sound of feet on the dirt, an inarticulate roar, two ringing gunshots, two thuds, and a confused little cry from Connor.

It takes what feels like years for Angel to find the handle, although it's probably only a couple of seconds, and he's ready to burst out of the car - sight or no sight - when between one blink and the next he can see.

Angel feels his heart do whatever the vampire equivalent of skipping a beat is when he sees that Wesley is still standing and Connor is still in his carrier in his grasp. Wesley's gun is in his hand again and is pointed at Jasper, who stands a few yards away. The two golems lie twitching on the ground, the cracks in their clay-like bodies letting out a slowly dimming red glow.

"Give me a single good reason why I shouldn't kill you," Wesley says coldly. His aim is perfectly steady, and the rattle hanging from Connor's carrier is barely swaying with the movements he must have made to shoot both creatures.

Jasper looks nervous, his hands shaking slightly by his sides. Angel is poised to jump out of the car if the wizard even thinks about making a move. "If you do, the orb will be destroyed," Jasper says. "You know that its creator must remain alive for it to function."

Angel can see Wesley does, and there is a long, tense moment before he lowers his gun.

Jasper takes a deep breath, like he's relieved, but Angel can't let go of any of his own tension.

"I expect you to return my money," Wesley says. "Since I'm hardly going to pay you for the privilege of attempting to kill me."

"I wasn't going to kill you," Jasper says. He slips his hand into his pocket.

Wesley points his gun at him again. "Betray me, then."

"I would have said 'turned the situation to even greater advantage to myself,' but tomato, tomahto." Shrugging, Jasper pulls the cash out of his smoking jacket and holds it out.

Wesley doesn't move. "Place it on the ground and turn around."

"You've already won; I'm not going to try again. You have my word."

"Turn around," Wesley says flatly.

Jasper does.

Wesley watches him for a moment and then sets Connor's carrier on the ground. Keeping his eyes on Jasper, he takes the money, slips it into his pocket, and picks up Connor again. "I'm leaving now," he says, "and I expect you not to move until you can no longer hear my car."

"All right," Jasper says. Wesley takes a step away. "You certainly have grown up, haven't you?"

"We all do," Wesley says and turns toward the car. He doesn't put his gun away.

Angel ducks down below the window so that Wesley doesn't see that he was watching. The scrunch-scrunch of Wesley's footsteps comes closer, and then the back door opens. Wesley snaps Connor's carrier into the car seat base without a glance back at Angel.

"You all right?" Angel asks in a low whisper.

His only response is a hint of a nod.

Wesley starts the car and winds his way slowly down the long drive, like he isn't threatened in the slightest by the wizard who just tried to capture him. He gives a relieved sigh as he pulls out onto the main road, and Angel finds himself doing the same.

Angel's about to climb from the rear of the SUV into the back seat when Wesley steers them to a jerking halt on the side of the road.

"I need you to drive," Wesley says, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Angel's out of the car and around to the driver's side in a flash. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Wesley doesn't even get out of the car; instead he awkwardly climbs into the passenger seat, long limbs akimbo in the tight space.

"Wesley," Angel says, sliding into the warm seat and reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Wesley says quietly. He's still rubbing his eyes. "My eyes are still adjusting from that flash; I can only see vague shapes."

Angel absorbs that statement for a moment. He looks back down the narrow road they drove on with some alarm. "Then I'm even more impressed you hit those two golems back there. I couldn't see anything when you did."

"I was trying to hit Jasper," Wesley replies without inflection. His shoulders are hunched, tense beneath Angel's hand. "We need to go."

"Okay." Angel gives Wesley's arm a gentle squeeze, and then he puts the car in gear.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour before dawn they pull into a gas station. Wesley goes into the brightly lit convenient store to get a cup of coffee and pay for the gas, and by the time he's done with his business with the obviously very bored cashier Angel has pulled the car around to the side of the building and is leaning against the cinder-block wall.

"Needed to stretch my legs," Angel says by way of explanation, looking up at the night sky.

Wesley joins him against the wall as he sips his coffee. It's too hot and extremely bitter, like it's been slowly burning in the pot for hours, but it will keep him awake, which is important as they have to keep driving away from Jasper's, away from the last place where they were known to be.

"So," Angel says when the coffee is half gone. "That went well." He doesn't mean buying gasoline.

"At least he didn't see you," Wesley replies, giving voice to the thoughts that have been running through his head for the past few hours. "No one knows you're with me, and he thinks _I'm_ the target, not Connor. We still have that advantage." Wesley feels the weight of his misjudgment heavy on his chest. He should have just kept going and trusted in speed to keep ahead of searchers. But they can't keep running forever.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Angel frown. "We have plenty of advantages."

Wesley gives a slow nod, mentally taking note of what they have. "The orb works, and we still have most of our cash; we'll be hard to track. And you're still a vampire, of course. That's an advantage."

Angel touches Wesley's shoulder, forces him to look away from the rim of his cheap styrofoam cup. "And we have you."

"Oh, yes. Me." The words are almost as bitter in Wesley's mouth as the coffee.

" _Yes_ , you," Angel says, his grip tightening.

"I've certainly done very well so far."

"You have." Angel doesn't sound like he doubts it at all, which makes Wesley wonder about his sanity.

"You _were_ there when I jeopardized our safety - including that of your infant son - and made us another enemy we can't afford to have, weren't you?"

"No, but I _was_ there when you faced down a wizard, kept us all safe - including Connor - and got us an orb thing that will make us even safer," Angel replies.

Wesley sighs and shakes his head. "Are you being deliberately difficult?" he asks.

"No," Angel says. He smiles. "I think that's you, actually."

"This is _serious_ , Angel," Wesley says, the shame and remnants of fear within him making it impossible to enjoy Angel's expression.

The smile disappears. "I know. And I think you're doing a great job. I'm not lying."

Wesley just looks at him, unable to believe him and unable to make him see what he knows to be true.

"You've got to trust me on this one, Wes," Angel says, sliding his hand up to cup the side of Wesley's neck. "There isn't anyone else in the world I'd want here more than you. Not a single person." He watches Wesley's face closely and adds, "Really." The corner of his mouth crooks upward again. "And not just because you're pretty damn hot when you're staring down someone."

Angel's words loosen the pressure in Wesley's chest so fast that he almost feels giddy, like there's not enough oxygen around him. The idea that Angel values him lodges in his throat, and his breath catches, making it impossible for him to say anything.

"Hot?" he croaks. Well, maybe not impossible, but that isn't what he expected to say. Angel appears to have the knack for doing that to him.

"Oh, yeah." Angel's grin is positively wolfish.

"Hot." Wesley considers the concept and finds it inapplicable to himself.

Angel leans in and murmurs in a low, husky voice. "Yeah."

Wesley swallows as Angel's mouth brushes over the skin beneath his ear. He wants to keep arguing that he had made a bad decision that might have endangered them all, but he can't particularly remember _why_ he wants to argue. "Really?"

Shaking his head, Angel takes the coffee from Wesley's hand and places it on the ground. Then he presses Wesley's hand to the half-hard cock in his pants. It twitches and swells as Wesley rubs his palm over the fabric. "Definitely."

"Well." Wesley is at a loss for words, his previous train of thought completely derailed. He curls his fingers around Angel's erection as best he can, still surprised by the thought that it's for _him_.

Angel makes a little breathy gasp, his hips canting forward into Wesley's hand.

"And I'm the one who caused this?" Wesley asks.

"Yes." Angel shivers and puts one hand on the wall behind Wesley.

"Hmm." Wesley strokes up and down, getting another really nice gasp in response.

"We should..." Angel glances behind him, at the car where Connor is sleeping and the empty parking lot beyond. Everything's quiet except for the two of them, and they're well out of the range of the windows at the front of the store.

Wesley knows that it's hardly the time or place for this sort of thing, but he doesn’t care. He doesn't _want_ to care - about the dangers behind them and ahead of them, about unreliable magic, about their friends left behind - and he wants to do something _right_ , where it's obvious that what he's doing is getting the desired results. This is simple. It's good. And if it lets him forget for just a little while... well, he doesn't deserve it, but Angel does.

"Yes, maybe we should," Wesley replies decisively. He uses his free hand to turn Angel's head back toward him and pulls him in for a kiss.

Angel responds immediately, kissing him hard and pressing him into the wall. There's more than arousal in the way he devours Wesley's mouth, but Wesley doesn't know how to decipher the rest. Maybe he'll be able to figure it out later; right now he's too busy being crushed between a hard, unyielding body and an even harder and more unyielding cement block wall.

"Very, very hot," Angel says and kisses him again, and Wesley can almost believe him.

"God, Angel," Wesley gasps when he has to turn his head away or risk passing out from lack of oxygen. The way Angel all but attacks his throat with rough kisses hardly helps to steady him, and it's hard not to moan with every breath.

Angel slides a hand into Wesley's hair and tugs his head to the side, sucking hard enough on his neck that Wesley knows that it will leave marks. Instead of foreseeing future embarrassment, he's secretly thrilled, his cock throbbing like Angel's mouth is sucking _it_ instead.

He rubs Angel's erection harder until Angel's thrusting his trapped cock into his palm and making greedy noises at his throat.

"Wes," Angel groans as Wesley uses both hands to try to open his fly. The button refuses to budge for an endless, awful moment, and then it's free, Angel's zipper is down, and his cock is in Wesley's hand.

Angel's hands are on Wesley's shoulders, and he kisses him harder at the first touch of Wesley's fingers, pushing him into the wall so firmly that Wesley could differentiate the outlines of the blocks if he had the brain cells to spare. "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you," Angel says - growls - and then kisses him so hard that Wesley sees stars.

Wesley likes the idea of being fucked by Angel. Really, really likes it, especially when the weight of Angel's body holding him against the wall gives him a pretty good idea of what it would be like to be under him. He's trembling with anticipation at just the thought, and he's making these little pleading noises into the kiss. And yet he knows it's not possible; it's not the time or the place, and they don't have what they'd need. They can't. It hurts to think it, but they can't.

Angel finally pulls back enough to let him breathe, his hips rocking into Wesley's hand and his mouth moving down his jaw toward his throat once more.

"No, let me," Wesley says while he has the wherewithal to do so, and he sinks to his knees between Angel and the wall. The uneven pavement would be uncomfortable on his knees if he could give it a thought. He barely even notices.

"Wes." The word sounds like a warning, but Angel just threads his fingers through Wesley's hair and makes no move to pull away.

"Let me," Wesley says again and leans forward so that he can lick the tip of Angel's cock and get his first taste of him.

The salty bitterness blooms across his tongue, sending sparks through him, and he immediately follows the first lick with a second. The groan he gets is more than enough encouragement, and he does it again, swirling his tongue around the head.

Wesley's not inexperienced, but this feels completely new. It's not that Angel tastes or feels different because he's a vampire; it's that it's _Angel_. It's Angel's cock in his hands and against his lips, it's Angel's hand stroking his hair, and it's Angel's moan in his ears. It's Angel who's with _him_. It's still almost incomprehensible, and when he has time to think about it he knows that he's not going to like some of his conclusions about why it's happened.

It doesn't matter now, though, because now is a time for action, not for thinking. Wesley can't fix the situation, can't make the right decisions, can't even keep them safe, but he can do this.

"Wes..." This time it's a plea, and Wesley glances up to see Angel looking down at him, one hand braced on the wall, the other cupping the back of his skull. His eyes are dark and hungry.

Wesley gives Angel's erection one last stroke before steadying it and taking it in his mouth. As much as he would like to take his time, that's the commodity that's most scarce at the moment, so he sinks down on him, taking him as deep as he can. It's not as much as he'd like, but it still makes Angel gasp and shudder.

"God, that's so..." Angel breaks off with a moan.

Sucking harder, Wesley pulls his mouth back to the tip of Angel's cock and then slides back down again, taking him in a little bit deeper. Angel moans again, his thumb rubbing a circle in Wesley's hair in encouragement, and Wesley's head spins with the pleasure of it. On the next glide up and down, Angel's hips hitch forward and his inarticulate groan sounds even needier, and Wesley would smile if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.

It feels wonderful to him, tasting Angel, feeling the thickness of him, hearing his eager noises. He knows this isn't specifically about his own pleasure, but he's filled with it, anyway. He _wants_ this, wants to be the one driving Angel toward his orgasm, wants it so badly his hand is shaking where it rests on Angel's hip. He's not passive, no matter how demanding the hand behind his head might grow to be; this is him _doing_ this to Angel, and the power of it courses through him like fire.

It's almost like a battle, although neither of them is fighting against it. Wesley is sucking and licking, sliding Angel's cock in and out of his mouth like he's going to force Angel's orgasm from him willing or unwilling, and Angel is groaning and cursing, his hips moving in tiny jerks in time with Wesley's actions.

"Yes. Yes. Like that," Angel says roughly, almost but not quite guiding Wesley's head where he wants it. When Wesley glances up at him, he seems transfixed by Wesley's mouth, watching his cock moving in it with glazed eyes.

Wesley takes him deeper and swallows around him. He almost gags at the sensation, but Angel cries out wordlessly, and it's worth the discomfort. Wesley does it again, and Angel throws his head back, then forward, like he's desperate to thrust his hips but has to let out the energy elsewhere.

Wesley moans his encouragement. Angel apparently likes it, either the sound or the vibration around his cock, since _he_ moans in reply - throaty and deep - and the hand on the back of Wesley's head tightens.

Delighted by the control that he has and that he's making Angel lose, Wesley moans again, sucking and moving his mouth on Angel's cock for all that he's worth. He swallows, both for its effect on Angel and to help with the saliva and pre-come that seem to be competing for space with Angel's thick erection.

"Fuck, Wes." Angel doesn't even sound like himself, so wild and hungry, and Wesley's enthralled by it, slowing down for a moment before Angel's hips jerk forward, urging him on.

Wesley redoubles his efforts, using his lips and tongue as best as he can, but it's when in his enthusiasm his teeth graze Angel's cock that Angel loses it completely.

" _Yes_." Angel's fingers tighten painfully in Wesley's hair, and he thrusts in short, sharp jabs all the way to the back of his mouth.

As overwhelming as it is to be struggling to draw a breath, Wesley doesn't stop him, just relaxes his jaw and keeps sucking, trying to drive him over the edge.

It doesn't last long. Angel shudders and gasps, choking out something that could possibly have been Wesley's name, and then Wesley's mouth is flooded with slick fluid.

Angel is still drawing in huge, gasping breaths by the time Wesley has swallowed and delicately wiped his mouth with his sleeve. That he could make a vampire breathe like that gives Wesley another jolt of pride, although he hardly needs more of it, given how good he feels about making Angel come that hard.

He stands up in the space between Angel and the wall, his own cock aching in the prison of his jeans, and lets Angel wrap himself around him, nuzzling at his throat and hugging him with clumsy arms.

"Did I hurt you?" Angel asks softly as he pants and shudders.

"No. Not at all," Wesley assures him. His lips feel swollen, and the back of his throat is a little sore, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. They feel like marks of accomplishment.

Even more of the tension drains from Angel's body, and he kisses Wesley's neck over and over - gentle, sweet kisses - as they stand there.

"God, Wes," Angel says finally when he regains some measure of control and gets his feet back under himself again. "You're way too good at that."

Wesley's eyebrow and mouth quirk upwards in unison. " _Too_ good? Is that possible?"

Angel nods against his shoulder. "I'm never going to be able to look at you when you're talking now that I know your mouth can do that. Actually, I'm never going to be able to look at you, period. _Way_ too good."

Delighted by the praise, Wesley laughs and murmurs in his ear, "I don't mind doing it again. Often."

He gets a shiver in response, and Angel's hand slides around Wesley's side toward his erection.

"No," Wesley says, capturing Angel's wrist in a gentle hold and stopping its movement. "We don't have time."

Angel rocks into him, and the pressure feels so good that Wesley could groan. "Feels like we won't need much." There's a smile in his voice. Also a lot more relaxation than Wesley's heard from him all day.

"We have to go, Angel."

Pulling back and fixing Wesley with serious eyes, Angel says, "But that's not fair."

Wesley drops a quick kiss on his lips but doesn't let himself linger. "It'll help you sleep. Come on. It'll be light soon."

"But you're..." Angel gestures with his trapped hand, but his point is clear.

"It'll help keep me awake."

And it does. Wesley's cock throbs for what feels like hours after Angel is asleep under a blanket in the back of the SUV and they're on the road again. It would give him something pleasant to think about, if he had the time to spare on such daydreams. It's not the road stretching before them that has Wesley's attention, though; it's what could be coming up behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the door to the dingy motel room is shut behind them, Wesley takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He's been awake for more than a day, and his face is pinched and pale, so it could be just fatigue. Angel doesn't think so.

Connor is fussy, and he waves his arms around as Angel holds him in the crook of his elbow as he fixes his formula. Angel knows how he feels; he's rationing his blood, and he's kind of hungry, too. Plus, he really misses his own bed.

By the time Connor is fed, Wesley has showered and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks well-worn and soft to the touch. His eyes are tired and red behind his glasses as he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the bag of fast food. It's got to be cold by now, and he looks at it with about as much enthusiasm as Angel would.

"You have to eat," Angel says, just in case Wesley gives into his obvious desire to close up the bag again.

"I'm not sure salt, fat, and preservatives are enough to count as food," Wesley replies. He takes out the box of chicken pieces, though, and picks at the biscuit inside.

Angel bounces Connor and gets a happy gurgle in response. "Maybe we should stop by a grocery store tomorrow. Pick up something fresh."

"This is less expensive. It's good enough." Wesley takes a bite of chicken and slowly chews it.

After another few bites, Angel says quietly, "We can't keep going like this." He's been thinking about it for the past couple of hours, about how run down they're both getting and about how it's not fixing the problem. It's only delaying the inevitable.

Wesley doesn't look up, but he does sigh. "I know. Outrunning them isn't possible."

"And none of us can keep up this pace."

"You could," Wesley tells the box on his lap.

Angel thinks about it. "Maybe. But Connor can't even if I can."

"He's a baby. His needs are simple."

Angel looks at the infant in his arms, who seems to be growing bigger every day. "They won't be for long."

Wesley nods, and he goes back to his meal - his dinner, Angel supposes, even though it's the middle of the afternoon. When he's finished Wesley says, "We should find somewhere to rest for a few days." He crumples the bag and throws it into the small trash can by the door. The flimsy can tips over, and the bag spills out. He frowns at it. "Somewhere better than this. It will give us a chance to regroup."

"And sleep."

For this first time since they started the conversation, Wesley meets Angel's gaze. He smiles - just faintly, but enough to show Angel that he's still in there. "And sleep," he agrees and then yawns.

"Hey, maybe you should try that now," Angel suggests, trying a smile of his own. "You know, get some practice."

It's a meaningless suggestion, since they pulled over specifically so that Wesley _could_ sleep for a few hours before it's dark enough for Angel to drive, but Wesley's eyes soften, like he's touched by Angel's concern. He stands up and stretches. "I think I vaguely remember how." He pulls back the covers and doesn't even blink at the muddied grey color of the sheets. At least they look clean. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, rubbing at his eyes again.

Before Wesley can get in bed, though, Angel walks over, still holding Connor, and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he says.

Wesley turns his head to look at him. He seems younger somehow without his glasses, or maybe it's just because of the vagueness in his bright blue eyes. It's from exhaustion and myopia, but it makes him look kind of innocent. Feeling a rush of something warm and soft in the region of his heart, Angel leans in and gives him a kiss. It's nothing fiery - just a gentle meeting of mouths with no plans for more - but it still seems important, like turning a corner they didn't even know was there. They look at each other wonderingly for a minute after they pull apart.

Then Wesley yawns, and the moment is broken.

Angel carefully sets Connor in his carrier as Wesley slides into bed. "You going to be able to sleep even though we're up?" he asks.

Wesley's eyes are closed, but he smiles. "Try to stop me."

"I'll be as quiet as I can."

"Trust me; it won't matter." Wesley reaches out blindly and finds Angel's leg, stroking it. It's a soothing touch, so different from the way his hand had felt on Angel's cock that morning. His other hand drifts up to his face again.

"How are your eyes?" Angel asks. He knows the question won't make Wesley happy, but he has to ask it.

Wesley's smile disappears immediately. His hands still. "They're... not back to normal," he admits.

Angel was waiting for a lie, so the truth is a relief, even though he hates what it is. "Are they getting better?" He puts his hand over Wesley's on his thigh, gently holding it.

"Some. They're not a problem in the daylight, but at dusk or darker it's still an issue. It's like my pupils are constantly contracted and aren't dilating when they should."

"Let me see."

Wesley opens his eyes, and Angel studies them not just as something pretty but as something useful.

"They look normal to me," he says finally. The pupils expand and contract as he moves in front of the light.

"It's probably magical." Wesley's eyes shut again. "I'm sure it will wear off."

Angel runs his hand up Wesley's arm. "Are you?"

Wesley doesn't answer. He's so still that he looks like he's sleeping, but he's anything but relaxed.

"Wes?"

"I don't know," Wesley says, almost a sigh.

"We should - " Angel begins. He doesn't have a clue about what they should do since it probably doesn't involve hitting someone, but they need to do _something_.

"Angel, I need to sleep." Wesley sounds as worn thin as the flimsy pillowcase his head rests on, and Angel's heart lurches in an unpleasant direction as he realizes even more deeply how much of a toll this trip and the events leading up to it are taking on him. Wesley has been his rock, the one person he could depend on completely, and he can't lose that. He _can't_.

It takes a moment before Angel trusts his voice not to give away his unhappiness. "Okay." He squeezes Wesley's shoulder and then releases it, patting his side before standing up and going over to pick up Connor again.

"Thank you." Within minutes Wesley's breathing has evened out into sleep, but he looks no less troubled.

Angel feels just as troubled, and instead of focusing on the joy of being with his son he turns over solutions to impossible problems as he bounces the baby in his arms.

*

They drive for two days straight, only stopping for food and Connor's needs. Angel drives at night, and Wesley drives during the day, each of them catching what rest they can when off duty. Neither of them sleeps very well, especially Wesley, who stays up for far more of Angel's shift than he should. He says he's not tired, but Angel can see from the translucence of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes that he's running on fumes and the coffee he buys every time they stop. They don't talk much besides making decisions about where to go and when to pull over.

Straight is the wrong word to describe how they're driving, really, since they meander all over the place to avoid detection, sometimes doubling back or driving out on narrow two-lane highways into the middle of nowhere. It'd be impossible for someone else to figure out where they were going. They don't really know, themselves. There's no reason to assume that anyone's on their trail - Wesley says the orb is cloaking them from magic, and they're careful not to leave anything behind - but there's no reason to assume that they aren't, either. Neither one of them is stupid enough to think that their problems are going to go away.

Finally, they break into a house just before dawn in the woods near a lake in one of the Dakotas. It seems to be a hunting or fishing cabin, closed up for the season. No neighbors are in sight, but it still has electricity. Wesley finds the valve to turn on the water. It has two small bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and a compact kitchen/living room, and it looks even nicer to Angel than a five-star hotel.

Angel thinks he ought to be feeling guilty about breaking into some weekend rental cabin, but in the grand scheme of things it's a minor sin compared to the rest on his soul, and Wesley's already left fifty dollars in cash on the little dining table to cover whatever they use. They'd happily pay ten times that much for a day or two of rest.

Angel takes care of Connor while Wesley secures the doors and windows, and by the time Connor is fed and changed Wesley is sitting on the plump, corduroy-covered sofa, leaning forward with the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes.

Angel sits next to him with Connor on his lap. The baby waves his arms around and makes happy gurgling noises.

"I think he's going to be a cop," Angel says, smiling down at his son. "He's already directing traffic."

Wesley smiles, too. "Or perhaps the conductor of a symphony."

"Think they get dental?"

"He doesn't have any teeth yet."

Angel leans back and shifts over so that his leg is touching Wesley's. "Good point."

"He will soon, though." Wesley holds out his finger for Connor to grab onto.

"We'll ask about the dental then."

They both focus on the baby for a little while, Angel bouncing him gently on his lap and Wesley allowing Connor to cling to his finger, even when he drools on it.

Finally Wesley breaks the silence. "I don't have a plan," he says, glancing up at Angel. He looks upset, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. He's learned how to disguise most of his emotions over the years Angel has known him, but he isn't trying right now. Angel hopes that it's because he's talking to _him_.

"It's not up to you to come up with one," Angel tells him. "Not that I don't want your help, but we're in this together, you know?"

"I've been trying," Wesley says, like he hasn't really heard. "Considering our options, assessing the relative merits of different solutions, but I can't come up with anything long-term. Even with the orb, we have to keep moving around or we'll be found, but we _can't_ keep this up. Connor can't."

Connor kicks his little foot and makes a happy noise.

"He seems to be doing okay," Angel says.

"That's because he's so young. He can't live his life strapped into the back seat of a car." Wesley's voice is rising, and Angel reaches out to cup the back of Wesley's neck with one hand.

"I know, Wes. I know. We talked about this." Angel rubs small circles over Wesley's warm skin.

"I should have been able to think further ahead, but we were just trying to get out at all, and..."

"I think we did great," Angel says, pulling Wesley in closer until he's sitting in the curve of Angel's arm. "We're here. We're together. We're alive." He grins, more for Wesley's sake than his own. "As much as we were before, anyway."

"We don't know about Cordy and the others," Wesley reminds him quietly.

"They're okay." They have to be. Angel can't think of them having died because of Connor. "That's why we split up, to keep them safe, too."

"Yes, but - "

"There is no 'but'," Angel interrupts him. He catches Wesley's gaze and holds it. "We did what we had to do to get out, and now we'll figure out how to stay safe." Wesley's face crumples just a tiny bit. "It's not _your_ job. _We'll_ figure it out. _Together._ "

Wesley nods. He still looks troubled, but the tension is slowly ebbing from his body. He leans into Angel and smiles absently as Connor tugs on his finger again. "I know. You're right."

"Yeah," Angel says. "It happens."

"It does." Wesley stifles his yawn behind his Connor-free hand.

"Why do I get the feeling right now you'd agree to anything?" Angel asks. He settles his arm more snugly around Wesley's shoulders.

"It's a sure sign of your status as a champion that you're not taking advantage of that fact."

Angel doesn't feel all that heroic, since what he'd really like to do is suggest getting out of their clothes and into the double bed in the other room. It's been days since they've even kissed, and he's missing the taste of Wesley's mouth, not to mention the feel of his skin. Just thinking about it makes him feel restless. "Not yet, anyway."

Wesley chuckles softly. "Well, that's something to look forward to." Then he ruins the moment by yawning.

With a silent sigh, Angel says, "You should get some sleep. You look really tired." Maybe he's more of a champion than he thinks. It doesn't always seem worth it.

Wesley nods and says, "I am. You see? You're right again."

"Hey, maybe it's a trend."

"Quite possibly." Wesley doesn't make any move to get up, though. He bobbles Connor's fist around with his finger but doesn't pull his hand free from the baby's grip. "I do have one suggestion."

Angel skims his palm along Wesley's shoulder and upper arm, enjoying the strength he finds there. For all that Wesley can look tall and skinny, he feels really good. Solid, strong. It's how Angel thinks of him. Also, hot, but he's trying not to think about that right now. "What's that?"

"We should find the time to try out the bed for more than sleeping." He looks at Angel out of the corner of his eye, his expression a cross between temptation personified and mildly apprehensive.

Angel's own fatigue is suddenly gone, and he shifts Connor in his lap so that he won't need decades of therapy when he's older. He tries to sound cool, like he's not surprised by Wesley being forward. Not that he doesn't like it - It's _Wes_ , and he's being _forward_ ; what's not to like? - but it still comes as a shock. "Um, yeah?"

No, he thinks, that definitely wasn't cool.

"If you'd like." Wesley turns his head so that their mouths are nearly touching and then bridges the gap. His breath and his lips are deliciously warm, and he kisses like he knows what he wants. There's something hard and needy there, simmering just beneath the surface, even if he pulls away too soon to yawn yet another time.

"I'm good with that," Angel says, clearing his throat and moving Connor a little bit further away from the bulge in his pants.

Wesley smiles more broadly before settling in against him once more. "Then that's the beginning of our plan. Sleep for me, then other things for both of us in that bed."

"I'm liking this plan a lot."

"I thought you might." Wesley sounds almost smug.

"You're a smart guy, Wes." Angel means it as teasing, but the sentence lingers in the quiet room for longer than it should.

The reply, when it comes, is soft. "I just hope I'm smart enough."

Angel squeezes Wesley's shoulders in the best hug he can give him in that position. "You are."


End file.
